Sweetest Honey, Sharpest Sting
by blueink3
Summary: A threat made against both Mike and Connie sends them into protective custody and neither adapts to their new role very well. But with Lupo and Bernard leading the investigation, someone's going to eventually have to play by the rules... right?
1. Prologue

_Prologue_

"_You guys will have to work together day and night." A smirk. "That won't be a problem, will it?" _

Of course not. Why on earth would that be a problem? But then Mike looked over at her with such an overwhelming combination of hope, fear, and trepidation that she couldn't help but give him a slight shake of her head in reassurance. Yes, upon reconsideration, this might be a problem.

Connie rested her elbows on the table and rubbed her eyes, groaning. "What time is it?"

"Twelve," Mike answered, his eyes never leaving the report in front of him. "Ish," he amended.

Connie smiled and bit the end of her pen, watching him. His tie had been loosened and his top button unbuttoned. His hair fell over his forehead as his brow creased in concentration.

"_It was dumb. You're not dumb." _

She sighed heavily and Mike's eyes finally strayed from the paper in his hands. "You want to call it a night?"

She shook her head and pulled another appeal towards her.

"You sure? We can pick this up again tomorrow."

"_You know, maybe someone else should be handling this trial." _

_Dimples and a boyish shrug. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me." _

"Connie?"

"Hm? Oh." She flushed as she realized she had spaced out again. "Yeah, tomorrow sounds good." She gave him a tight smile as he watched her warily, before reaching above his head and stretching. His dress shirt tightened across his chest and she quickly averted her eyes. _Danger, Will Robinson._

"Come on," he said as he stood and shuffled the papers into some semblance of order. "We'll grab a cab and I'll drop you on my way uptown."

She nodded and yawned as the full weight of exhaustion finally hit her. It had been bad enough having her dirty laundry aired out in open court, but to have Mike defend her without prejudice only further confused her already convoluted opinion of him.

"_It's tragic, Connie. You know, this whole thing is breaking someone's heart."_

"_Yours? I don't think so." _

"_Not mine. Poor Mike Cutter. He never realized you were available." _

A soft whistle snapped her attention back to the man in question. "You zoned out on me again."

She shook her head and released the death grip on the files in her hand. "Sorry, long day."

"Understandable. You wanna talk about it?"

And there it was: that caring, concerned look she sometimes wondered if she truly deserved. She felt half a second away from thanking him profusely for defending her honor, but she bit her tongue and squashed down the desire to wrap her arms around him, holding him tight.

"I'm good, thanks."

He nodded without another word and slid some files into his briefcase. Friday night was technically the weekend, but there was no rest for the weary. She'd probably spend Saturday in her yoga pants with blue-backed appeals fanned out in front of her (unless, of course, Mike called her into the office). What a gripping life she did lead.

She allowed him to help her into her coat, a gesture he had done countless times, but for some reason she couldn't shake the feel of his hands on her shoulders as he smoothed the material out. She had never given it any thought before; it was just who he was, always holding doors and pulling out chairs. But now every move was questioned, every smile dissected. She knew he was attracted to her, a point he joked about more often than not, but she didn't suspect that it went beyond a few teasing comments.

"_Whoa. I might have stood a chance with you back then."_

…

"_You're the total package."_

"_I completely agree." _

…

"_We don't have a conflict of interest problem, do we?" _

"_No. And we don't have a jealousy problem, do we?" _

The "pre-school" comment had been a cheap shot, and an erroneous one at that, but goading Mike was easier than attempting to identify the heavy feeling that had been in her gut ever since Jack looked at her with a smirk and mockingly repeated, "Scheduling issues."

"_Two gay men can be affectionate without it being sexual. Just like you two." _That was what Mr. Wilson had said as they questioned him about his relationship with Jon Sorrentino, the man whose husband had been killed in a hate crime.

If a potential witness they had spent five minutes with could see it – hell, if _Marcus Woll_ could see it – then after three years… why didn't she?

xxxxxx

"Just up here on the left," Mike instructed the cab driver as they turned onto her street. Her apartment was only a five-minute drive from the office and, while completely walkable, Mike cited the late hour and the fact that he was paying to coerce her into joining him.

"Thanks." She smiled as she opened the door. "I'll call you tomorrow if I have any questions."

"Likewise. Hey," his fingers around her wrist stayed her departure. "Good work today, counselor."

The pride in his eyes made her chest constrict. "You too, counselor. Thank you." She tried to pour all of her gratefulness into those two tiny words, but it would never be adequate.

With another smile, she shut the door and began the epic search for her keys at the bottom of her bag. She really should have just grabbed them en route so she wouldn't keep Mike waiting. He always stayed until she was safely in her building, and the idling of the cab's car engine was like a ticking clock as she shoved her wallet, makeup bag, and various briefs out of the way in an effort to see into the abyss that was her briefcase.

So engrossed was she in the search that she never noticed the manila envelope taped to the front door of her building. And when she finally did pull the keys out and wave them triumphantly over her head so Mike could see, so lost was she in his subsequent eye-roll and chuckle that she didn't register the name written on its front as her own until her key slid into the lock. Frowning, she yanked it off the door and slid a finger across the top, allowing three photographs and a letter to slide into her hand.

"What the…" she trailed off as her heart beat an impossible rhythm against her sternum. "Oh God…"

She was staring at the black and white image of Mike sitting at his kitchen table with a cup of coffee and the morning paper. The next photo had him on the phone as he stared at the traffic on the street below, and the final one showed him walking around his bedroom in his boxers.

Sliding the final photo behind the rest with a shaky hand, she stared at the accompanying note:

_**Rafa Alvarez isn't the only person who can be reached. **_

"Connie?" Mike's concerned voice filtered through the window of the cab, but she couldn't tear her focus away long enough to address him. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard the car door open and his arrival at her side was punctuated by his sharp inhale. "Connie, give me these. Get in the car."

"That's you. That's your apartment," she mumbled. "Is that from this morning?"

"Connie, in the car. Now."

She was acting on autopilot, and it was only Mike's gentle but firm hand on her back that got her into the idling vehicle. She didn't remember sliding across seat to allow him to get in after her. Didn't remember him whipping out his cell phone and barking for someone to get him Lieutenant Van Buren. Didn't remember balling her hands up into fists until Mike reached out and prevented her nails from digging crescents into her palms.

He didn't look at her, his focus remained solely on the pictures and letter in his lap, but his thumb rubbed reassuring circles on her knuckle as he told Lt. Van Buren just what had happened.

"… taken this morning."… "No, I – I don't know why they were left on her door."… "Okay. 139 W. 82nd." He ended the call and finally met her gaze. "We're going to the precinct. A team is making sure your apartment is secure."

"Lupo and Bernard?"

"No, they're checking something else out."

She nodded, but remained silent. He didn't press her to speak, but his hand remained on hers and for that, she was eternally grateful.

She had been left threatening messages before; had even had a bullet graze by just a foot away from her head, but this threat wasn't just about her. If her thumping heart and queasy stomach gave any indication, putting Mike in potential peril proved to be the ideal incentive. Neither the bullet meant for Paige Regan, the song written by the Vella cartel, nor the stalker tendencies of Juror Number 8 had left her as shaken as she felt sitting in that cab. This was a planned invasion of privacy. Carefully staked out and executed, with Mike as bait.

"We're here," he murmured, as he handed the cabbie some cash and opened the car door, holding his hand out to help her out of the cab.

The 2-7 loomed dark against the night sky and she shivered as she was guided into the unusually quiet building where they were greeted by a young police officer.

"Mr. Cutter? Ms. Rubirosa? The Lieutenant is on her way in. She asked that you wait in her office. Can I get you anything?"

"Something warm," Connie heard herself mutter, and Mike smiled his thanks as the cop took off towards the kitchen. She sat in one of the chairs across from Van Buren's desk, as she had on so many other occasions, but being on the opposite end of the judicial system made it inherently different.

She thought of the pictures and, under any other circumstance, she would have blushed at seeing him in only his boxers, but she couldn't even muster up the energy to be embarrassed. The young cop handed her a mug of tea and she managed a thank you as Mike wrapped his coat around her shaking shoulders.

"Counselors," Van Buren greeted solemnly as she breezed into her office. "While it's always lovely to see you, I do wish it was under better circumstances." She arched an eyebrow as she surveyed them both. "All right. Start at the beginning."

Connie was grateful that Mike answered most of the Lieutenant's questions, from where they were (the office) to where they were going (Mike's apartment by way of Connie's) and what time (12:15am, give or take a few minutes).

Van Buren peered at them over her glasses as she held the pictures under a light. "You work out, Counselor?" Mike snorted as Van Buren chuckled. "Just trying to make light of a dark situation."

Connie cracked a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"And Rafa Alvarez is…?"

"_Was_ the lead witness in our case against Eddie Marco, until the Vella Cartel got to him."

Van Buren nodded and held up the note with plastic gloves, examining the letters cut out of magazines and newspapers making up the message.

"Ah, they're here," she announced.

Both Connie and Mike turned as Bernard came through the doorway, flicking his eyes briefly in Connie's direction, before giving Mike a slight nod. A muttered expletive escaped under her partner's breath as Lupo stood in the doorway, holding up a familiar manila envelope, secure in a clear evidence bag.

"For you."


	2. Cautionary Measures

_Cautionary Measures_

It was sometime after 3am when Bernard slumped into the chair next to hers and gently nudged her shoulder.

"Come on. You two are heading to a hotel."

She groaned. Hotels were really just part of the gig by now, but she really was looking forward to her own bed where the pillows were just the right amount of squishy. She glanced up once more at the black and white photos lined up next to the ones of Mike she found taped to her door: one of her brewing coffee, one of her reading a case file on her couch, and yes, one of her in her underwear. All from that morning. The note to Mike read:

_**You don't deserve her.**_

He had punched the wall upon reading it, and now he sat in the chair opposite hers with an icepack on his knuckles. At least Lupo had complimented his right hook.

"So this one," Van Buren started, pointing at Connie's note, "implicates the Vella Cartel, and this one," she pointed to Mike's note, "just points to an admirer." Her eyebrows arched at Connie and she shrugged. As far as she knew, she only had one admirer. Speaking of which, the Lieutenant's focus landed on the man himself as he popped some Advil. "And he doesn't think very highly of _you_, Counselor."

Mike smiled. "They rarely do, Lieutenant."

Van Buren made a shoo-ing motion with her hands. "All right, off to bed, all of you. And _please_, find a hotel that Marcus Woll _doesn't _know about this time? For all our sakes."

xxxxxx

"I made a call. We've got two adjoining rooms at the Marriott on 47th," Lupo began as they drove uptown. "B will stay with you, Connie, and I'll stay with Mike."

"What, did you two flip a coin?"

Connie couldn't help the small chuckle at Mike's comment and he seemed pleased, as if that was his goal all along. It took her a moment to realize that it probably was.

The rooms were basic, but nice. Lupo left the adjoining door open in case either detective needed to help the other. She sat on the bed and watched Mike pace back and forth past the door. He looked as if he desperately wanted/needed his baseball, or at least something to occupy his hands, which at the moment were almost violently tugging off his tie. She stood and leaned against the door, watching him as Lupo sprawled out on of the beds, flipping through channels. Bernard had gone downstairs to get all of them toothbrushes from the store in the lobby, and only on what must have been Mike's thirteenth pass past the door did she finally notice the duffle bag on the floor.

"What's that?" she gestured as Lupo frowned at the Mets game highlights before focusing on the bag.

"Huh? Oh. I smuggled that out of Mike's apartment while the team wasn't looking." He unzipped the bag to display a t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants. "For Connie. Mike, I didn't think you'd mind."

And finally Mike's gaze met hers as he pulled out a well-worn, and seemingly well-loved, Hudson University tee and handed it to her. "Not at all."

She handled the soft fabric with care and reached for the flannel pants he handed her next. She was going to be sleeping in Mike's clothes. In the room next to him. Well, okay then.

Sleep probably would have come easier if her pajamas didn't smell just like him.

xxxxxx

Being a prosecutor ensured she had her fair share of trippy dreams. On more than one occasion did she wake up with the sheets stuck to her body and her heart beating out of her chest as she tried to shake off the latest nightmare. Mike always knew, of course. He'd take one look at her as she walked into his office and wordlessly hand her his coffee, even though she's pretty sure he needed it more.

And unfortunately, having two highly trained detectives and the Executive Assistant District Attorney sleeping within twenty feet of her did nothing to soothe her overactive subconscious. One minute, Marcus Woll was chasing her down a hallway full of locked doors and the next, she was sitting bolt upright in bed gasping as Bernard grabbed her wrists.

"Connie, Connie, easy. Breathe, it's just me."

She blinked her eyes open and slowly the room came back into focus. Bernard's concerned face stared at her from the edge of her bed.

"You were yelling," he explained.

She flushed and noticed the presence of two others hovering in the doorway. Mike and Lupo stood there in their boxers and t-shirts, looking equal parts concerned and confused.

"I'm… I'm fine. Bad dream."

Lupo deemed that explanation enough and disappeared back into his room, the squeak of the springs signaling his return to bed. But Mike stood his ground, studying her. He had a habit of doing that: looking at her, yet seeing right through her. Through the calm façade and forced smile, straight to her rapid pulse and uneven breath.

"Really, Mike. I'm fine."

He still seemed unconvinced, but he nodded anyway and disappeared. Bernard leveled a knowing look at her.

"Liar."

She smiled and gently kicked him off the edge of her bed.

"Our secret."

xxxxxx

Daylight streamed through the window the next time she woke and the smell of coffee coaxed her sluggish mind into awareness. Bernard's bed next to hers was empty and sloppily made, and the noise of a muffled television floated in from the open doorway connecting the rooms.

"… What sort of situation?" she heard Lupo say. "A website?"… "All right, Rubirosa's still sleeping. We'll be in as soon as we can."

"I'm awake," she called, and Mike's face appeared in the doorway a moment later.

"Morning, sunshine."

"Shut up."

"Now is that any way to treat the man who comes bearing gifts?" He lifted his hand to display a cup of steaming coffee.

"I take it back," she mumbled, pushing herself into a seated position and happily accepting the cup: black, one sugar. She told him how she took her coffee once on the first day they met and he never forgot. "How's the hand, slugger?" She nodded towards his bruised knuckles and he shrugged.

"I'll live."

She blew on the coffee and tried ridiculously hard not to focus on the fact that Mike was still only wearing boxers and his white undershirt.

"Is Lupo on with the precinct?"

Mike nodded. "They found something else. Not sure what, but it doesn't sound good."

"Perfect," she muttered as she threw the covers back. His eyes darted to the t-shirt she wore – _his _t-shirt – before skirting quickly away.

She shouldn't have found the way he dug his toe into the carpet endearing or his mumbled, "Right, well I'll just…" complete with vague hand gesture adorable. She shouldn't have thought too hard about the fact that one of New York's finest prosecutors seemed to get tongue-tied around her, and she _definitely _should not have snuck the Hudson University shirt into her briefcase just because it was his. But then again, she had a habit of doing what she shouldn't.

After all, she had learned from the best.

xxxxxx

"I'm sorry, _what_?"

Connie looked in disbelief from Van Buren to Jack and back again.

"You can't be serious."

"As a heart attack, Ms. Rubirosa," Van Buren murmured as she point to the website displayed on the projector in front of them. "Whoever runs this blog has an unhealthy obsession with you. _Both _of you," she said, focusing on Mike, who had been eerily quiet throughout the whole exchange.

It wasn't often that she found him at a loss for words, but if the way his temple throbbed and his jaw muscle clenched was anything to go by, he was probably just trying to keep his anger in check. And for good reason. Someone had dedicated an entire site to her. To her personal life and her professional, to the cases she won and those she lost. To the bars she went to and the subways she took. And to Mike, simply because he was EADA Cutter, first chair to her second.

"This person is clearly very familiar with your work," Jack muttered, pointing to the note that said, _**Rafa Alvarez isn't the only person who can be reached. **_

"So they're threatening Mike…"

"Because he's with you," Jack finished.

"But he's not with me!"

"I think Jack meant by proximity, not personally," Mike muttered and Connie instantly regretted denying him so quickly.

There were more photos of her on the site: as she spoke to Woll outside her building, as she laughed with Mike while in line for hot dogs, as she hit the ATM around the corner because she lost a bet with Bernard. Whoever this was even knew she had ordered sushi on Tuesday night: spicy tuna and edamame.

She felt ill and it must have showed, because Van Buren shot her a concerned look. "Ms. Rubirosa, do you need a minute?"

Connie wordlessly shook her head and felt Mike's hand on the small of her back. It was light, like a feather, but there all the same.

"So the plan is to put her into protective custody?" he finally asked.

"Not just her," Jack began, and he looked far too delighted as he said, "Both of you."

Which brought Connie right back to, "You can't be serious."

"Connie, we don't yet know what we're dealing with. Yes, it could be some whack-job who saw you on the evening news." Jack placed his hands on her shoulders and forced her to look at him. "But it could also be one of the many crime bosses you've managed to piss off during your time here."

_Damn him. _She couldn't be stubborn when he was giving her his concerned father face. "Fine."

"Good," he released her as Lupo appeared in the doorway, holding up a box.

"IDs, cash, rings. Everything but the… you know." He made a vague gesture to his stomach and Van Buren nodded.

Connie's head spun. Wait. _Rings?_

"This is your cover. You're heading to Maryland as a married couple – "

Mike choked on his coffee and Jack clapped him hard on the back, smiling. "If you can't handle that then I guess I shouldn't tell you that you're expecting your first child too."

She literally felt the blood leave her face.

_Of course. _Lupo had gestured to his stomach. He meant a fake baby bump. Her pulse roared in her ears and she didn't dare look over at Mike. She was pretty sure Jack's hand on his shoulder was the only thing keeping the prosecutor upright at the moment.Instead, she stared at the mess of papers fanned out on the table: details for a life she didn't live and props to aid a lie that would hopefully keep them alive. After all, who could question a married couple looking to get away for a weekend before the arrival of their first child?

It was as if the air had left the room and all of its occupants seemed to wait with bated breath for her reaction, but she didn't know which to do first: laugh, cry, or faint.

The thing was: these people… they hadn't threatened her. They had threatened Mike. _Mike. _Her boss, but more than that. Her friend. He comforted her and kept her on her toes. He used whatever methods necessary and then apologized when those methods proved too extreme. He held himself to the highest standard, and judged himself the harshest for it. He pushed her to do her best, and because of him, she usually did. She would ask "How high?" before he even said, "Jump," and when he asked if she was getting off his moving train, she had responded with, _"All aboard." _

He could be overzealous, egotistical, and downright rude, but he was _good_. And if donning a baby bump and playing house with him for a few days ensured his safety, then that's what she would do.

"What's in Maryland?" she finally asked.

Jack smiled. "A bed and breakfast with the best crab cakes you've ever had."

She finally let her eyes drift to Mike who, between the two of them, was the more likely candidate to dig his heels in. But instead, he looked at Van Buren and asked quietly, "What are our new names?"

"You can keep your first names – "

"Small miracles," Connie muttered. Van Buren ignored her.

"But your last name is Andrews."

Mike looked up sharply. "That's my middle name."

"We figured it would be easier to remember."

xxxxxx

Her mother used California's beaches as temptation to get her to move out west, but New York, with its smells and sounds and subways, would always be home to her. She watched it now from the fourth floor of the precinct, grateful for the quiet moment away from the calculated gaze of the detectives. They had been watching her as if she were a bomb moments away from detonation.

Sometimes she felt like she was.

"Hey."

Mike's voice startled her and she rubbed the elbow she hit on the armrest as he held up a placating hand.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

She nodded towards the box he held in front of him like a shield. "Our life story?"

"Indeed."

She nodded and bit her lip, both wanting to know what sort of life the force had planned for them and wishing to just run away from the whole thing.

"So…? House in the suburbs with three kids and a dog?"

He smiled and placed the box on the table, pulling out the first sheet of paper and reading its contents. "Well, we were married on September 24th, 2007. You are… six months pregnant with our first child. Congratulations, it's a girl." He cleared his throat and she watched his eyes scan a few more bullet points. "We apparently haven't decided on a name yet. Jesus, they really have thought of everything," he muttered.

She sighed heavily and dropped her head in her hands.

"C'mon, Counselor. We can do this," he encouraged. "Hell, you've done undercover work with Lupo. What's so different now?"

"It's _you_."

And by "it's you," she meant to imply, _You're Michael Cutter. You're my boss. You're the one who looks at me like I'm heaven and hell combined, _but the hurt look that briefly graced his features proved that her "it's you" might have been misconstrued.

"No, I didn't mean – "

"I get it." He held up a hand. "You don't have to explain."

"No, Mike – "

"Really." He stood. "It's fine."

He turned on his heel and left her with nothing for company but a box full of memories she sorely wished were more fact than fiction.


	3. Uncharted Territories

_Uncharted Territories_

Connie had always wondered what she would look like pregnant. During those odd hours when she thought of what her life would be like if she wasn't working all day. When she imagined she had a husband and a life and a future to come home to. Recipes to perfect, children to tuck in, stories to read, a man to love.

This was not exactly what she pictured in her mind's eye.

She stood in the bathroom of the 2-7 as Van Buren zipped up the maternity dress over the small, but fairly heavy baby bump. It was almost like a vest, but with a dress covering up the zippers and seams, she looked… well… pregnant.

"It suits you, Counselor," Van Buren quipped.

"One thing at a time, Lieutenant." She turned sideways once more and smoothed her hands over the floral print. They mercifully only made her six months along, which meant less waddling. Only slightly less adjustment.

"Your husband's waiting for you…" Van Buren murmured and Connie glared.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you."

"Just a bit."

With a heavy sigh, she tugged at the material once more as she turned away from the mirror and headed for the door. Her relationship with Mike had made many left turns, right turns, and u-turns in the two years they'd been working together, but this was one change in direction she was not expecting when she first clapped eyes on Michael Cutter.

_Jack's old office had gone from an empty reminder that he was no longer her first chair to a battleground full of boxes overnight. _

"_Shit." _Bang. _"Ow." _

_A man emerged from under the desk rubbing the back of his head as he stared at the baseball in his hands. _

_The new EADA. _

_He was younger than she was expecting. And with his mussed hair and missing tie, he looked even more like he belonged at the nearest sports bar. Not in Jack McCoy's office. She should go over and introduce herself, but she wanted to size him up first. It would take an awful lot to fill Jack McCoy's shoes and Connie was 99.9% sure that this man, whose blue eyes looked adorably befuddled as he stared at the baseball in his hands, would be found wanting. _

"_You're meant to sit at it. Not crawl under it," she said as she leaned against the doorframe. _

"_Excuse me?" His eyes darted to hers and she gestured to the desk. _

"_You're supposed to sit at it." _

"_Oh." He smiled bashfully and rubbed the back of his head with one hand as he tossed the ball with the other. "I'm due in Judge Reynolds' chambers in 20 minutes and I needed…" he held up the ball and shrugged. "Well, I needed it." He tossed the ball into his briefcase and began looping his tie around his neck. _

_Ah, yes. Jack had his scotch. The new EADA had his baseball. _

"We're _due in Judge Reynolds' chambers in 20 minutes," she emphasized as she held out her hand. "Connie Rubirosa." _

_Recognition flickered in his eyes. "Mike Cutter. It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Rubirosa." _

"_Connie." _

"_Connie," he repeated with a small smile. His attention had been solely on her as she made her introduction, which meant his tie was longer in the back than in the front. _

_She bit her lip to hide her smile and gestured to the fabric. "May I?" _

"_What? Oh." He looked down at his sad excuse at a knot and nodded. "By all means." _

_She could feel his breath on her knuckles as she looped the tie into a perfect Windsor. _

"_Where'd you learn to do that?" _

"_My father taught me." _

"_Wow." He admired her work in the reflection of the glass and nodded. "Not bad, Counselor." Picking up the briefcase, he gestured towards the door. "Shall well?" _

_She felt her face heat at his compliment and led the way from the office. In her two-minute introduction, she discerned Mike Cutter to be many things. _

_But wanting was not one of them. _

xxxxxx

"I'm dividing up your case work," Jack was murmuring as Mike sat hunched over on one of the chairs. "Consider it paid time off. I don't want you blowing your cover because someone sees you with a legal brief."

Mike managed a smile as Jack clapped him on the back.

"Cheer up. Do you know how many people would kill to play house with Connie?" Jack glanced up and met Connie's narrowed gaze in the doorway, not looking the slightest bit contrite as he winked and grabbed his coat from the back of Mike's chair. "I've got to get back. I'm not even supposed to be here, but I couldn't see you two off without a word."

"Or a pot-shot," Mike muttered.

"Gotta get 'em in where I can."

Mike still hadn't noticed her hovering in the doorway, but after Jack squeezed his shoulder once more, he made his way quietly over to her and kissed her on the cheek.

"It suits you," he said, nodding to the baby bump.

"That's what they tell me," she wryly replied.

Jack's teasing countenance faded for a moment, and something else altogether passed across his features. "Go easy on him," he murmured, nodding back to Mike.

Connie frowned, but before she could ask him what on earth he meant, he disappeared down the hall. Her gaze followed him until she lost him around the corner, before turning back to the lawyer in the chair, looking simultaneously both older and younger than his forty-some-odd years.

With a deep breath, she cleared her throat and waited for his eyes to connect with hers, fully taking in the sight before him.

It was strange to see him looking so vulnerable. She only saw that lost look on his face when she manhandled his drunk self off Jack's couch, into a cab, and onto her own. By the next morning, his coolly calculating façade was back in place (if slightly hungover), and it was business as usual.

But now, he looked unsure in yesterday's rumpled clothes as he stared at her, jaw slightly dropped.

"You look…"

"Huge."

"Beautiful."

She tugged at the material once more, as if fidgeting in it would somehow hide the baby bump, as Mike stood and slowly made his way over to her.

"I meant it… It – "

"Suits me?" she finished for him.

"Yeah."

They stared at each other, silent for a moment, until she finally noticed the piece of metal on his fourth finger. Gently reaching out, she took his hand in her palm, skin calloused from years of baseball, and grazed her thumb across the silver ring.

"I have one for you, too."

With his right hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a matching band, complete with fake engagement ring, and slid it onto her finger. She stared at it for a moment, the rings feeling both alien and welcome as she adjusted to their weight.

"Is it heavy?"

"What?"

He pointed to her belly. "Is it heavy?"

"Oh. No. Not really. Though give it fourteen hours, I'm sure my back will feel differently."

Mike forced a smile and shoved his hands back into his pockets, hiding the ring on his finger from view. She refused to admit the sight made her stomach flip.

"Hey."

Both Mike and Connie turned to find Lupo in the doorway, dangling a pair of keys in his hand.

"Your chariot awaits."

xxxxxx

The young officer that brought her tear the night before ushered them out the back door of the precinct into the alley where an unmarked navy sedan sat idling for them.

Mike's hand was steady on her back as he guided her around the car and opened the passenger door for her. His attentiveness should have irked her, but as she fussed with the material covering her stomach for the umpteenth time that morning, she found comfort in the small familiarity his presence provided.

Bernard tossed Mike the keys as he came around and, with a mock salute from Lupo, he slid into the driver's seat and started the engine.

"You ready?"

Oh, how to answer that – there were so many options to choose from – yet she seemed unable to voice any that made sense, so she settled for a simple nod.

"Mr. Cutter," Van Buren called as Mike put the car in drive, "try not to get lost on your way."

"Of course," he said with a grin. "Maryland's north, right?"

"Don't get cheeky," the Lieutenant replied, but even she managed a wave as they drove out of the alley and onto the busy street.

Connie watched the streets fly by, the hot dog vendors blurring together as early morning commuters made their way into their offices. She glanced over at Mike, but his concentration was thoroughly on the car in front of him and the pedestrian currently jaywalking across Hudson St.

"_You've driven before, right?_

"_Of course I have." _

"_In the city?" _

_He remained silent. _

"_Mike!"_

"_What? Why would I drive in the city? That's what cabs and subways are for." _

"_I'm driving." She moved to wrestle the keys to the office car out of his gloved hands, but he held them aloft. She huffed and tried again. "You realize that, in these heels, we're practically the same height, right?"_

"_No, we're not." _

"_In fact, I might be taller." She stood on tiptoes and nearly got the keys, but he threw them high in the air, ran over to the driver's side and caught them just as they landed. Her jaw dropped. _

"_How did you do that?" _

"_I was a short-stop. Caught my fair share of fly balls." He winked and opened the car door. "Don't mock a man's height, Consuela." _

She had been terrified as she slid into the passenger seat that day, but Mike approached driving in the city the same way he approached most everything: with joyful recklessness.

xxxxxx

Her eyelids felt heavy as she watched the exits blur by on the Turnpike. They had made it through the Holland Tunnel and onto the highway before either spoke a word, but quite suddenly, she sat forward and grabbed his forearm.

"I didn't even think… What about clothes?"

He looked startled, but quickly returned his focus to the road. "Packed in suitcases in the trunk. Apparently," he added.

"By whom?"

"I didn't ask." He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Close your eyes. You looked wrecked."

"I'm fine."

"Connie, you got three hours of sleep last night."

"So did you."

He didn't reply, so considering the argument won, she settled back and stole the printed off directions from the center console.

"We're on here for…" her eyes scanned the document for an estimated time, but Mike's voice interrupted her.

"I know where I'm going."

"You do?"

He nodded. "I lived in Annapolis for a time. When I was younger."

For as much time as they spent together, sometimes he would make a comment that would reinforce just how little she knew him. She stared at him and, as if he felt her gaze on him, his eyes remained resolutely on the road in front of him.

He didn't look good: he had dark circles under his eyes, his hair was sticking up from the multiple times he had run his hand through it, and his shirt was wrinkled. She had at least gotten to change into a maternity dress at the 2-7, while Mike had been wearing the same clothes for over 24 hours now.

"Is this always the procedure?" she asked.

"Is what?"

"Letting us go off on our own to lay low for a while?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "We're not alone. We have a tail."

"We do?" She definitely did not remember that part of the briefing.

"Weren't you paying attention at all?"

"Sorry, I heard 'married' and 'pregnant' and sort of zoned out after that," she retorted a little more harshly than necessary.

"I know what you mean," he muttered as he lifted his left fingers off the wheel and inspected the ring once again. "Van Buren said we wouldn't notice the cops at all. But they'll be there. Lupo and Bernard will be leading the investigation in the city."

Connie nodded and stared out the window once again, at the acres and acres of green passing by, interrupted by the occasional town. It was so rare to get out of the city. She saw her sister in Queens – and occasionally her mother and brother in California – but everything in between was a bit of a mystery. Much like Mike.

She glanced over at him again and he seemed to have stopped the study of his wedding ring. His grip on the wheel relaxed the further and further outside of the city they got.

He had frequently asked how her family was – if her niece passed her spelling test; if her nephew learned to walk yet. And not once had she returned the favor. She had no clue whether or not he had siblings. Whether his parents were living or dead. He was so tight-lipped about it that she didn't press. But as she stared at the wedding ring he supposedly put on her finger and felt the weight of his fake child pressing against her stomach, she realized that perhaps it was time to ask.

But before she could formulate a question in her mind, she lost the battle to keep her eyes open and the last thing she remembered was his gentle chuckle in her ear as he laid his jacket across her knees.

xxxxxx

"_I've been roaming around, I was looking down at all I see. Painted faces fill the places I can't reach." _

Connie stirred as images of baseballs, manila envelopes, and black and white photos haunted her, all underscored by a melody she knew.

"_Someone like you and all you know and how you speak. Countless lovers under cover of the street. You know that I could use somebody. You know that I could use somebody. Someone like you." _

She blinked her eyes open and squinted in the glare of the sun beating down on her through the window. The radio was playing low – so low that she was shocked Mike could hear it – but then again, he wouldn't have wanted to disturb her.

"How long was I out?" she croaked.

He jumped and nearly swerved the car into the other lane. She giggled and managed an apology for startling him.

"Long enough for us to make it through Jersey and into Delaware."

Her eyes widened. "I'm so sorry. I'm an awful co-pilot."

"No problem. You needed the sleep."

"You wanna trade?" she asked, already scanning the horizon for a place to pull over.

"Nope," came his response.

She sighed heavily. She knew that tone. It was the tone he used when he was unyielding. It was probably for the best. She seriously doubted she'd be able to fit behind the wheel anyway. She was exaggerating, but it certainly felt that way.

She glanced out the window once more: more farmlands. More open road. It was getting a little monotonous. She reached over and turned up the radio dial.

"Do you mind?"

He shook his head as a Black Eyed Peas song blared through the speakers. She nodded along to the beat and, after a few moments, she heard him quietly humming the tune under his breath. She was flabbergasted.

"You know this song?"

"Everyone knows this song."

"But… _you _know this song?"

He chuckled. "Connie, despite what you may think, and despite what the interns might say, I do not live under my desk."

She bit her lip to keep her smile at bay, but the way he went off on a diatribe about the rumors the interns were constantly spreading was kind of adorable.

"… and then the one with the dark hair – "

"Carla?"

"How the hell should I know? Then 'dark hair' says to 'blue eyes'…" he trailed off as he glanced at her. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Nothing. I just didn't realize you had such a vendetta against the interns."

"I don't! Only against the ones who go around telling people I'm a robot and that you plug me into the wall at night."

Connie burst out laughing and clapped a hand over her mouth at Mike's unamused look. "I'm sorry, that's not funny."

"You're damn right it's not!"

Try as she might though, Connie could not contain her mirth. Eventually her snort turned into a giggle, and then into full-blown laughter again. "A robot? Really?"

Mike shook his head, but smiled, until eventually he was laughing right along with her. Somewhere around mile marker 92, they got a hold of themselves and Connie flipped the mirror on the visor down to check that what little mascara she had put on that morning was not streaming down her face.

"Am I really that bad?"

Mike's question caught her off guard and she snapped the visor back into place before facing him. His look was guarded, but after a year of studying his tells, she knew he was actually concerned.

"Of course not. But you're an intimidating person to the most hardened of criminals. Of course you're going to scare the crap out of an intern. And you're incredibly good at what you do, which most twenty-somethings believe makes you a workaholic who never leaves the office."

"But I _am_ a workaholic who never leaves the office."

"True." Connie shot him a sly smile. "But they've never seen you at Whiskey Tavern when the Yankees are playing."

Mike laughed and Connie was convinced that in the two years she knew him, he had never laughed as much as he had in the last two minutes.

"How much longer?"

"Forty minutes or so," he replied as he guided the car off Route 301 and onto a smaller road.

She nodded and glanced in the back, at the box Mike had in his hand when she had effectively put her foot in her mouth. Their "history," so to speak. She turned and reached for it, which was a lot easier to do when she wasn't six months pregnant, but after much twisting and silent cursing, she managed to get it into her lap.

"You've looked through this?"

He nodded.

"Okay, quiz time. When were we married?"

"September 24th, 2007."

"And what's your job?"

"Real estate." His nose scrunched in distaste and she laughed.

"And what's my job?"

"Kindergarten teacher."

"Good. How pregnant am I?"

"Six months."

"And what am I having?"

"A girl."

There was something in his tone that drew her eyes from the packet in her hand, but his face gave away nothing.

"Name?"

"We don't have one."

"I like Adelina," she murmured and then froze. She had absolutely no intention of voicing that opinion aloud.

Mike looked at her with raised eyebrows, and she waited for him to make some remark along the lines of "You know the baby's not _real, _right?" but he merely returned his eyes to the road and responded, "Good name."

Connie felt her face flush and she gripped the paper in her hands harder than was strictly necessary, as if grounding herself. _This isn't real. This isn't real. _

As Mike had so thoughtfully pointed out, of the two of them, she was the only one with undercover experience. Sure, she'd seen him pull stunts in the courtroom that required tact and a certain amount of skill (she was _still _trying to figure out where the hell he learned _Russian, _of all languages). But she didn't know how he'd act in such a low-pressure, domestic situation. There was no verdict at stake. No murderer behind the defense's table.

Just a threat made against their lives.

Yes, she had gone undercover before and had no problem doing it. But as they pulled up in front of a small bed and breakfast in the middle of a quaint town on the Chesapeake, Connie knew that, ready or not, it was time to see what Mike was made of.


End file.
